


glitter and helium

by starseas



Series: glitter / gold [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-04
Updated: 2013-04-04
Packaged: 2017-12-07 11:35:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/748082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starseas/pseuds/starseas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>harry and louis are from two different crowds, but harry wants to ask louis to prom.</p><p>♡ also on tumblr at starseas ♡</p>
            </blockquote>





	glitter and helium

Harry’s having trouble breathing.

The classroom is a blur of dimness and shadow, but pale orange sunlight still seeps in through the gaps in the blinds, casting bars of brightness across the tiled floors.

It strikes the dust in the air, lighting it on fire, letting it burn—

and Harry’s having trouble breathing, because the overhead projector is humming through the room, the sounds of murmured conversation swimming in his ears, but he really can’t make anything out over his own thoughts, a string of fuck, fuck, fuck filling up his mind like water.

See, the thing is, he’d completely forgotten about prom.

It’s not even something he’d been thinking about, not really—not until Liam Payne, student body president, walked into his fourth period English class during a lecture on Shakespearean literature to give an announcement about the prom, which is apparently this Saturday, believe it or not. Jesus.

Liam’s still talking at the front of the classroom, half of his face lit up by the sunlight and half of it drowned out in the shadows, but Harry honestly can’t pay attention to him right now.

Not when prom is in four days.

Fuck. How the hell could Harry have forgotten about it?

Sighing, he shifts a bit in his seat, looking towards the front of the classroom before he can stop himself. In the front row, Louis’ sitting in the desk beside the door, and with all of the lights turned off like this, he’s just a dim silhouette edged in golden sunlight.

Harry ends up watching the pale line of his neck anyways.

He knows it’s just a neck, and usually that wouldn’t do much for him at all, but bloody hell—it’s Louis’ neck, and Harry loves knowing that beneath the cotton fabric of his sweater, there are bruises left by Harry’s mouth.

Pale purple and blue—scattered across his chest like constellations, tucked between his thighs like something left unsaid.

It’s hot, alright? It’s so fucking hot, and Harry knows he shouldn’t be letting himself think about it when he’s sitting right beside Niall in their seats, but he just can’t help it, he honestly can’t.

His mind is swimming with thoughts of Louis—Louis’ lips, Louis’ legs, the way his hair feels when Harry pulls at it, his chest, his hands, his hands in Harry’s mouth, his hands on Harry’s belly, his hands between Harry’s legs, touching, turning, tasting. Harry thinks about how he got to school early this morning, twenty minutes before the bell, and he thinks about the way that Louis had followed him into the toilets with steady eyes, his pink mouth tilting up into a grin when Harry smiled and said, “Come ‘ere. I want to touch you.”

And yes, it was muffled and quiet but it was so bloody good, too, and Harry still feels like he’s buzzing in all the places where Louis had touched him, in all the places where Louis made him feel electric.

It’s weird, because Louis is Louis—

He’s captain of the football team, he’s best mates with Zayn Malik (who basically owns the Smoker’s Pit out by the bleachers, honestly, it’s ridiculous), and in freshman year Louis hooked up with Eleanor Calder, a bloody senior at the time, and Harry has no fucking clue how that even happened.

But of course, it happened, because Louis is Louis, and he can make anything happen.

Sighing, Harry forces himself to look away, picking up his pen and putting it back down on his desk again before glancing back towards Louis, watching as Louis turns towards Zayn and listens to whatever Zayn’s whispering in his ear, no hint of a smile on his face, just steady focus—his eyes are all deep and dark and blue, an ocean of cold water, and Harry wants to swim in them.

It’s funny seeing Louis like this, because whenever him and Harry are alone in their bedrooms or at the park or laying out by the soccer field, Louis’ either smiling or trying not to, and it’s the best thing in the world, having someone act like that around you, like you make them glow.

And sure, Louis doesn’t pay much attention to Harry while they’re at school, but Harry’s sure it must take him some effort.

Especially in Biology, because they’re lab partners in that class and Harry likes to talk a lot, and he likes the way that Louis gets all annoyed and pissed off when Harry whispers in his ear that he’d really love to kiss him right now, or that he’d really love to lay him out on the desk and suck him off.

Harry sighs again, low and annoyed, because like this, Louis’ profile is edged in gold and Harry really, really wants to touch him.

Even though Louis’ all the way at the other side of the room, Harry wants to touch him. That must mean something.

“Well, I think that’s it, really” Liam says suddenly, clapping his hands together at the front of the room and bringing Harry back to attention. Liam’s staring out at the classroom, and his eyes are warm as he says, “So just to summarize, the deadline for ticket purchases is this Friday, and once you leave the dance there’s no readmission. Uh, also, the, uh, theme for the dance is A Night to Remember, so it’s actually quite lenient I think, but just a reminder that no alcohol is allowed into the gymnasium, period.”

Niall mutters, “Bloody typical,” and the rest of the class just groans.

Liam frowns, saying, “It’s only for you own safety,” and Harry just shifts in his seat, focusing on the side of Niall’s face in the dimness instead.

“Hey Niall,” he starts, leaning over a bit, and he keeps his voice down because Nick’s sitting in the seat in front of them and everybody in the whole bloody school knows that Grimshaw can’t keep a secret to save his bloody life. “I was wondering,” Harry starts, and Niall looks towards him just as he says, “Should I ask Louis to the prom?”

Niall’s eyes widen. “What?” he whispers back.

“Should I ask Louis to the prom?” Harry asks again.

“No, Jesus, I heard what you said—” Niall groans, rolling his eyes like Harry’s the one who’s acting stupid here.

“Alright,” Harry frowns, his arms crossed over his desk. He stares at Niall, eyebrows furrowed. “Well, what do you think then? Should I ask him?”

Niall glances towards Louis at the front of the room, and then he shrugs before turning back towards Harry. “Uh, sure mate, if you want a black eye.”

“He wouldn’t give me a black eye, Niall.” Harry laughs, the sound of it hushed as Liam drones on up front. “It’s just—I’m…nervous, sort of. I mean I don’t even know if he likes dances.”

“I don’t even know if he likes anything,” Niall replies, narrowing his eyes. The blue of them are lit up by pale sunlight, and he watches Harry for a moment, thoughtful. “So, what? You two are actually mates now? You and Tomlinson?”

“I suppose so,” Harry shrugs, tugging at the bottom of his sleeve.

“Never thought I’d see the day, mate.” Niall says with a smirk, and Harry grins despite himself, shaking his head as he turns away.

“Shut up,” He mumbles, nudging Niall with his shoulder.

He doesn’t really say anything else, because Niall’s right, isn’t he? Louis and Harry are in two completely different crowds—Louis sticks with the smokers and the footie players, and Harry sticks with Niall.

That’s how it works.

And sometimes Harry and Niall hang out with Liam at lunch, but that’s only when they’re desperate, and when Liam has free time. So it’s not like Harry and Louis are dating or anything, you know—they just hang out. They kiss each other and touch each other when nobody’s around and that’s all it is, really, which is why Harry’s honestly not sure if Louis would ever agree to go to the prom.

“I reckon you should ask him.” Niall says a while later, when the classroom is filled with murmured conversation and sunlight, and when there’s ten minutes left until the bell.

“Do you really?” Harry asks, chewing at the end of his pen.

“Sure,” Niall starts, almost laughing as he packs up his Shakespeare translation. “But when he knocks those pretty white teeth out of your mouth, don’t blame me.”

-

Louis shows up sometime past midnight.

Harry’s bedroom is a small blur of shadow and moonlight, and the thunderstorm outside sounds like a dream as he lays awake in bed, not quite asleep but almost there, just coasting on the edge of it.

The window beside his bed is closed, raindrops pelting against the glass and making the outside world look like nothing but a purple haze, lit up by flashes of lightning, stark white against the deep night sky. The moonlight casts watery squares of brightness across his bed and across his bedroom floor, softening the shadows of his room.

Yawning, Harry shuffles around in bed, trying to get comfortable.

Like this, the stickers on his ceiling glow brightly—

Yellow stars scattered across the dark.

Harry’s got school tomorrow and he’s really stupid for staying up this late, but he couldn’t stop thinking about prom and about asking Louis to go with him. He knows it’s stupid and bloody useless to wonder about, but that doesn’t stop him from doing it.

Doesn’t stop him from wanting it.

Shit, Harry’s a mess, and it wasn’t even supposed to go this far, this thing he has with Louis—it’s not like Louis doesn’t have cooler people to hang around with, people that haven’t entered the science fair for the last three years in a row. 

He’s just closing his eyes when his bedroom door cracks open, a sliver of yellow light washing in from the hallway as a shadow steps into his room, hair tousled with rain and sleep.

“You up?” The shadow says, and Harry’s eyes widen.

“Louis?” He breathes, peering through the dark, and sure enough, it’s Louis—hair matted to his head, darkened by rainwater. He’s lost in the dark before he shrugs out of his coat and steps forward, the moonlight hitting him and turning him silver. “Fuck, Louis. What are you doing here?”

“Dunno,” Louis says, walking further into the room. His eyes are steady and warm in the dimness, and Harry’s suddenly aware that he’s only wearing his boxers beneath the blankets. Louis says, “Couldn’t sleep, really.”

“So you decided to come here?” Harry asks, his voice mussed with sleep as he sits up in bed, watching as Louis stands at his dresser and trails his fingers over the picture frames placed there.

“I sent you a text,” Louis replies, not looking at him.

“My phone’s dead.” Harry says, crossing his arms over his chest. He’s acting unimpressed, but his stomach feels like it’s filled with a hazy warmth. It’s past midnight and Louis’ here in his bedroom, of all the places that he could be. “What if I was sleeping?”

“You were a cute little baby, you know.” Louis says after a moment, ignoring Harry’s question, and then he’s turning towards Harry, shaking his head as he moves towards him. “Don’t know what happened. You’re a right mess now.”

“Shut up,” Harry laughs, scrubbing a hand down his face. “That’s not what you were saying this morning in the toilets, if I’m remembering correctly.”

“Was it not?” Louis asks, almost smiling as he reaches the bed and sits down across from Harry on the blankets, the mattress dipping slightly beneath his weight. He crosses his legs, his knees brushing against Harry’s, and his skin and clothes are drenched by the storm, eyelashes thick with rainwater, and Harry thinks he must be freezing.

“No, it’s not.” Harry says, surprised when his voice comes out steady even with Louis looking at him like that, like he wants him. Half of his face is edged in moonlight, and the whole room brightens as lightning rips across the sky outside. “You said that you like my mouth and my legs,” Harry continues slowly, and Louis’ eyes widen—just barely, but Harry catches it, and it’s enough to make him keep going, the words falling out of his mouth like soft rain. “And you—you said that you think about me, sometimes, in class.”

“Did I?” Louis asks, mouth quirked up like he’s trying to remember.

Harry nods, grinning. “You did. And you like my voice, too.”

Louis laughs loudly at that, his blue eyes crinkling beneath the light of the storm. “What the hell are you on, mate? I never said that.”

“Yeah, but I can tell. I think you really like me, Lou.” Harry says, his mouth stretching into a smile as he leans his head back against the wall, keeping his eyes on Louis. Louis stares back at him as Harry says, “I think you might love me a little bit, too.”

“Big words.” Louis says, but he’s shaking his head, licking his lips like he’s trying to keep himself from smiling. Harry wants to taste him. He wants to kiss into his mouth and make him warm again. Louis watches him for a moment, head tilted to the side. “Is your mum home?”

“No,” Harry answers, pushing the sheets off of his legs until he’s just sitting in front of Louis in his boxers. He’s aware that Louis’ watching him, and it makes him smile, it makes him feel wide awake. “She’s working a late shift at the hospital. I think she’ll be back around six.”

Louis nods, and then Harry’s watching as he hops off of the bed and walks over towards the door, leaning down to pick up his jacket on the floor there.

“What are you doing?” Harry asks, eyebrows furrowing.

“I have something for us,” Louis says, shuffling around in his jacket pocket before picking something out and tossing the jacket back onto the floor. He turns back towards Harry, half of his face lost in the shadows, half of it ignited by the moon. His smile is wolfish. “Got it off Zayn.”

“Oh, that’s never good,” Harry smiles, leaning his head back.

“Ah, shut up. He’s not as bad as you think.” Louis says with a laugh as he hops back onto the bed again. He shuffles around until he’s sitting with his legs spread out, opening up the plastic baggie in his hands. “Come here,” he says, “sit in front of me.”

Harry grins, moving until he’s sitting cross legged between Louis’ thighs, and the feeling is all hazy and yellow, it’s all warm even with a storm whirling like static outside. They stay quiet, raindrops pelting against the bedroom window as Harry watches Louis pull a joint out of the bag before reaching into his pocket and grabbing a lighter.

Harry blinks, watching as Louis lights up the end of it, the tip glowing orange in the purple haze of the bedroom, and he thinks he’ll always remember this—the way the moonlight leaks into the room and plays with the curves of Louis’ face like that.

“You’re staring,” Louis says, placing the joint between his lips.

“I’m not,” Harry says, but he watches with a swollen tongue as Louis inhales, his cheeks hollowing out around the tip of the joint in a way that makes Harry’s hands shake.

Louis closes his eyes, and Harry watches him.

Louis closes his eyes, and the moon washes him out in silver.

And then he’s breathing out smoke, all blue and hazy, and the storm is washing down the window panes, turning everything into a dream.

“Your turn,” Louis says, his eyes bright, electric.

He passes the joint to Harry and Harry takes it, placing it between his lips and just inhaling, just breathing in, his whole chest expanding as the smoke pours into his lungs and runs down, down, down, before floating back as he coughs, his chest burning.

“Shit, Curly.” Louis breathes, almost laughing. His face is lit up by the storm. “You’ve never done this before, have you?”

“Shut up,” Harry says, because he actually has done it before, believe it or not.

He doesn’t cough when he inhales this time, he just lets the smoke fill up his mouth and run down his throat, slow and sticky and sweet. He takes two small hits after that, and he can already feel his veins starting to buzz, the room shifting, a blur of purple and white and grey.

Louis watches, but his face says nothing.

“Open your mouth,” he says after a moment, and then he’s reaching out and taking the joint from Harry’s hands, placing it back between his own lips and sucking in the smoke, his eyelashes casting shadows like angel webs across his cheekbones.

Harry opens his mouth, his whole body feeling hot as Louis leans in towards him, their noses brushing, sparking heat.

When Louis exhales smoke, Harry keeps his eyes open.

The taste is all sticky and sweet on his tongue and it’s so good but it’s also so strange, the way he feels it all over his body, all over his skin, in his fingers and in his toes.

Louis backs away, licking over his mouth as he watches Harry.

And that’s not fair, see, ‘cause Harry’s always horny as fuck when he’s high—it’s just one of those things that he has to deal with, but it’s harder to control when Louis’ around, when every bloody touch to his body feels like it’s been intensified.

The bedroom shifts, becoming smaller somehow, turning into nothing but smoke and walls, and outside, the rain falls down in sheets.

They pass the joint back and forth until there’s nothing left.

After that, they share another one.

“Louis,” Harry says a while later, when they’re laying the wrong way, side by side on the small bed and watching the neon star stickers glow on the ceiling like little fireflies. Harry frowns, blinking. “Louis, I think my fingers are gone.”

“That’s alright, mate.” Louis says. “You’re still okay.”

Harry nods, grinning because Louis likes him even though he hasn’t got any fingers, and everything keeps blurring in and out of focus, half of his bedroom draped in a dream. Harry’s got one leg bent but the other one is dangling off the side of the bed, and he’s hard as hell in his sweatpants, arousal tenting up the front of them.

“My hands are gone too, I think.” Harry sighs, but he’s okay with it. He doesn’t even need hands right now, not with Louis around to brush his hair, and maybe feed him snacks when he gets hungry. Louis could give him a bath, too. Maybe they could have a bath together.

“What?” Louis asks, and it’s like Harry can see him frowning even though he’s not looking. “You’re so strange when you’re high.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault I can’t feel my hands,” Harry says.

Louis sighs, and then he’s propping himself up onto his elbows beside Harry, reaching down to take Harry’s hand in his. He brings it up to his mouth, lips pressing against Harry’s palm. “How about this, then?” Louis asks, watching Harry with a fond sort of look in his eyes. “Can you feel this?”

Harry swallows, and his whole body feels like lightning or smoke. The ceiling lowers and the stars are so close that Harry can taste them.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “I feel you all over sometimes, I think.”

Louis just stares at him for a moment, and then he’s turning Harry’s hand over in his palm and kissing over the bends of his knuckles, small pecks that make Harry’s body feel electric.

Louis sighs, letting go of Harry’s hand and falling back beside him on the bed, their arms pressed together. Harry frowns and says, “Louis,” but the word comes out sounding like it’s been stuck in his throat, worn down by arousal. He turns over onto his side, hooking one leg over both of Louis’ legs, and then he’s nuzzling his nose against the bend of Louis’ jaw, against his cheek, his own hardness pressed against the jut of Louis’ hip.

The rain falls down outside and even through the roof and the bricks of the house, Harry can feel it. Louis closes his eyes, and Harry’s annoyed at that because he wants Louis to bloody touch him or something, not go to sleep.

“Louuuuuissss,” Harry whines, “it’s not bedtime yet.”

“It’s like, two in the morning.” Louis says, but he’s swallowing thickly as Harry kisses at the corner of his mouth, as Harry licks over his lips, making it hard for him to talk. “Way past your bedtime.”

Harry laughs, moving so that he’s sitting over Louis’ thighs, their bodies pressed together in a way that makes Harry’s head spin. Louis’ still laying back on the bed but he’s staring at Harry with a hooded blue gaze, tracking Harry’s movements, his attention soft with the haziness of being high, high, higher, than, before.

Harry blinks, leaning down and bracing himself with two hands resting at either of Louis’ head, and then suddenly they’re face to face, Harry hovering above while Louis watches him.

Harry lets his elbows buckle and suddenly they’re very, very close.

“You’re so annoying,” Louis says, but he seems fond.

Harry laughs, leaning in so that he’s kissing the corner of Louis’ open mouth again, and Louis’ breath falls onto his face, still sticky and sweet with the taste of weed.

“I think about you too, you know, in class.” Harry says, moving to kiss over Louis’ cheekbones, over the soft fuzz of his eyebrows. “I think about your stomach, and your legs. I like your hands, too. And your cock. You’ve got a really nice cock, Lou.”

“It’s nice that you think that, mate. I appreciate it.” Louis says, and Harry grins despite himself.

“Why do you always have to act like I don’t turn you on?” He asks, the words muffled against the dip of Louis’ chin. He grinds down a bit, lazy and slow, and Louis’ eyes flutter, but just barely—other than that, there’s no reaction at all.

“Maybe ‘cause you don’t,” he says.

Louis’ hard, Harry can feel it, but because he’s Louis, he’s going to be an annoying prick about it. Of course he is.

“Fine,” Harry says, rolling off of Louis and over onto his back again, letting his eyes fall shut as the storm whirls on outside. Rain drums against the roof, and Harry’s so turned on that he can barely remember his own name. So he thinks instead, he keeps his eyes closed and he just thinks, because he doesn’t want to sleep yet, not now in the middle of a thunderstorm, not now when Louis’ lying beside him like this, lighting up the dark.

“I feel like my arm is a cloud,” Harry says after a moment.

“Of course you do.” Louis replies.

Harry’s silent for a while, and it’s so quiet that he thinks Louis might have fallen asleep. He keeps his eyes shut, breathing steady, and the backs of his eyelids become a kaleidoscope of blurring colors—bright reds bursting into blues, blues blooming into magentas, magentas blossoming into purples, into yellows and greens, into images that don’t make any sense.

“You still awake?” Harry asks into the silence, opening his eyes but keeping his gaze settled on the ceiling, watching the moonlight play over the glowing yellow stars.

“Yeah,” Louis replies, and then after a pause, “I’m awake.”

Harry shifts, turning onto his side again, the tip of his nose brushing against Louis’ cheek. Louis’ eyes are closed, the light of the storm washing in and casting silver shadows over his face, and Harry watches him for a moment, so fascinated by the curves of his cheeks, by the soft slope of his nose, then he sighs. “I can’t sleep, Lou.”

Louis doesn’t open his eyes. “What would you like me to do about that?”

Harry thinks about that for a moment, his whole head feeling thick with fog and smoke, and then he shrugs, nosing at Louis’ cheek in a sleepy sort of way. “Dunno,” he says. “Cuddle me, maybe?”

Louis blinks awake at that, staring at Harry with furrowed brows. Half of his face is drenched in silver. “You want me to cuddle you?”

He says it like he’s never had someone say that to him before, but Harry’s not embarrassed in the slightest. Maybe it’s the weed, or maybe it’s the fact that he’s hard as fuck for Louis right now and all he wants is to be closer, closer, closer. So he nods, and Louis just sighs before turning over onto his side so that they’re face to face, before hooking his arm over Harry’s shoulders and pulling him in so that Harry’s forehead rests against the hollow of Louis’ throat.

“That good?” Louis asks.

“Yeah,” Harry says, his body buzzing with warmth even though he’s dressed only in his boxers. He’s suddenly aware of how close he is to Louis—so close that when he blinks, his eyelashes brush against Louis’ throat. Harry’s still high, and he’s so turned on, so desperate and needy that he can’t even stop himself from pressing a small kiss to Louis’ Adam’s apple, just to feel him.

Louis makes a small moaning sound at the back of his throat, and Harry kisses him again.

And then Louis’ pushing Harry onto his back and hovering over him, leaning down to nose at the line of Harry’s jaw—pulling back. Looking at Harry, leaning in a small fraction and then pulling back—trailing a thumb over the line of Harry’s eyebrows before leaning in again, kissing the corner of Harry’s mouth, Harry’s eyelids, the bridge of Harry’s nose, pulling back.

“Louis,” Harry breathes, and his voice is absolutely wrecked.

Louis’ straddling Harry’s legs, circling his hips down over Harry’s groin and spreading heat everywhere, all over. The room is shifting and blurring and the moonlight is leaking in through the window like water, and Harry really, really wants to be naked right now but he honestly doesn’t remember how to do that, how to take his clothes off, so he doesn’t—he just moans as Louis licks over his bottom lip, as Louis grinds him down into the mattress.

“I don’t know how to—,” Louis starts, and then he’s groaning as Harry ruts upwards, their hips catching and making Harry see stars. “Fuck, Curly, you make it so bloody hard to say no.”

The rain is still drumming down outside, pelting against the roof in a way that echoes through the empty house, and Louis and Harry move against each other slowly, high and dizzy with smoke.

Harry frowns when Louis moves away, but then Louis’ spreading Harry’s legs apart, kneeling between them and hooking Harry’s legs over his shoulders.

“Shit,” Harry breathes, keeping his eyes trained on Louis as Louis presses his crotch against Harry’s bum, thrusting his hips slowly, in and out and in and out and fuck, fuck—they would totally be fucking right now if Harry wasn’t wearing his boxers, and if Louis wasn’t wearing his ripped jeans and his stupid black t-shirt.

Louis’ eyelids flutter, and he licks over his lips as he moves slowly against Harry, hands wrapped tightly around Harry’s ankles.

They watch each other as flashes of lightning momentarily brighten the room, making it purple and hazy before losing it in the shadows again, and Harry’s honestly never been so turned on in his life.

And then Louis’ moving away, he’s laying down on his stomach with his face between Harry’s thighs, and the moonlight is edging him in silver, pooling him in a square of brightness as he mouths at Harry’s cock.

“Oh, shit, shit—” Harry moans, and it ends up sounding more like a whimper as Louis starts thrusting down against the mattress, his mouth moving over the fabric of Harry’s boxers, wet and hot and electric.

Everything is heat, heat, heat, and the storm outside means nothing.

“Fuck, Lou,” Harry breathes, rocking up into Louis’ mouth, slowly, just a gentle circle of his hip. “Lou, I’m gonna—”

And then he’s coming, his vision bleeding white at the edges, and his body is jolting as Louis kisses down his legs, his hair brushing against the skin of Harry’s thighs. Harry breathes heavily, tangling his fingers in Louis’ hair, pulling him back up.

“Was that good, then?” Louis asks, grinning as he licks into Harry’s mouth, as he makes Harry’s whole body go slack with feeling.

“Louis.” Harry laughs, the sound of it breathless as Louis kisses the corner of his mouth, again and again and again. Swallowing, Harry lets his eyelids flutter as he tightens his grip on Louis’ hip. “Lou, you’re gonna get me hard again if you don’t stop.”

Louis smiles, nuzzling his face into Harry’s neck and kissing him there once before pulling away and hopping off of the bed.

Harry frowns, watching the Louis as he moves through the darkness of his bedroom. “Come back, Lou. I’m cold.”

Louis laughs, and then he’s kneeling down and opening up the bottom drawer of Harry’s dresser, the one with the pajama sets in it. He picks up a pair of plaid fleece bottoms, turning back towards Harry with a small smile. “You mind?”

Harry swallows, shakes his head.

He doesn’t remember how to speak.

Twenty minutes later, they’re both cleaned up and dressed in fresh pajamas, laying side by side on Harry’s bed with the covers tucked up beneath their chins, warm and hazy and comforting.

Harry sighs, turning over and sliding his leg between Louis’, pressing his forehead against Louis’ throat, breathing in.

The rain pelts against the window, and Harry closes his eyes, sinking down into the sound. When they’ve both been quiet for a while and Harry’s drifting back into sleep, he whispers a question into the dip of Louis’ collarbone. “Come to prom with me?” He asks.

Louis laughs, a tired sound that melts into the storm. “Not a chance in hell, Curly.”

Harry grins, shaking his head. “I figured.”

Louis smiles, pulling Harry in closer and pressing a kiss to his forehead, and when Harry wakes up the next morning, sunlight is slanting in through his bedroom window, washing everything in gold.

Louis’ gone, but his side of the bed is still warm.

That’s never happened before.

-

When Harry goes downstairs that morning, his mum is in the kitchen.

It’s enough to make him freeze in the doorway, his eyes widening at the place where she’s sat at the kitchen table with a mug of steaming coffee cradled in her palms. She’s still dressed in her hospital scrubs, the sunlight washing in through the backyard door edging her in gold—

But Harry’s still frozen in place, because his mum is in the kitchen, and she’s never in the kitchen in the morning, especially mornings after she’s worked the night shift.

Something’s up.

“Mum,” he says slowly, the tiled floors cold beneath his socked feet as he moves into the room, hands tucked into the pockets of his uniform. “You’re up early.”

Anne glances up at that, pale eyes brightening when she sees Harry standing by the counter. “Oh, hi honey! Come sit, I made breakfast.”

That’s when Harry notices the bowl of oatmeal sitting at the place mat across from his mum, still hot and covered in strawberry halves, just the way he likes it.

“You made breakfast?” he asks, grinning as he moves towards the kitchen table. He pulls out a chair and sits down, feeling his mum’s eyes on him the whole time, and it’s like she’s waiting for something, so he adds, “Thank you,” because that must be what she’s waiting for, proper manners and all that. Picking up his spoon, Harry breathes in the scent of brown sugar and berries, and then he’s stirring it around in the bowl before taking a bite. 

“How is it?” Anne asks, her arms crossed over the table. 

The dust swimming in the air is ignited by pale morning sunlight, and Harry nods, speaking around a mouthful of oatmeal. “Amazing, mum. Thanks.”

Anne smiles, pleased, but she doesn’t say anything else.

She just watches him, and that’s when Harry sort of goes, well, alright, something’s definitely going on, because his mum should be sound asleep in her bed until noon at least, but instead she’s awake and sitting across from Harry with a warm smile that seems a bit too wide to be all happiness.

Harry takes another bite of oatmeal, his eyebrows furrowing as he glances up at her. “So, did you just get back then?”

“Oh, no!” Anne laughs, loud against the hushed morning silence of the small kitchen. “They let me off early, thank god. Turns out my night shift is tomorrow.”

Harry nods, and then he’s back to finishing off his oatmeal. The strawberries are sprinkled with sugar and it tastes terrific, it really does—he’s honestly never understood those people who don’t like oatmeal, like Louis, for instance. Louis hates oatmeal.

Harry shifts in his seat and frowns, because it’s weird to think about Louis when he’s eating breakfast across from his mum, isn’t it? He supposes it must be, especially after what they did last night.

Jesus, Harry still feels all the places where Louis had touched him.

That’s not normal, he doesn’t think.

The kitchen is quiet for a while as he eats, as the orange sunlight spills in like tangerine fizz and casts pale shadows of nothing over the fruit bowl on the kitchen table and across Anne, who’s sitting across from Harry with a knowing sort of look on her face.

The tea kettle on the stove whistles, and Harry puts his spoon down.

He moves to get up, and then his mum says, “Did you have a friend over last night?”

Harry stills, lowering himself back into his seat. “Uh, not really.”

Anne blinks, one eyebrow raising. “Not really?”

Shrugging, Harry fiddles with his spoon before taking his hands away from the table, running them over his thighs instead. “I mean, well, Louis came over for a bit, but that’s it.”

The corner of Anne’s mouth quirks up. “Louis?”

“My lab partner,” Harry explains, his face flushing. He focuses on the dust motes that swim in the air, trying to act normal. But bloody hell, is it ever hard to act normal when he can practically feel Louis’ mouth on his skin still, the warmth of their bodies, the closeness. Harry swallows, shrugging. “We just hung out for a bit, I suppose.”

“Really.” Anne hums, but she’s grinning now, almost like she can’t help herself. “At three in the morning?”

Harry pauses, hesitant. “Uh. Yes?”

“Right,” Anne nods, taking a small sip of her coffee. She’s quiet for a moment, glancing around the small kitchen, and then she’s looking back at Harry with a frown, but it’s almost like she’s trying not to laugh. Setting the mug down, she taps her fingers on the side of it. “Um, I may have heard some noises last night—”

“Oh my god,” Harry groans, face flushing red as he hides his face in his palms. Bloody hell, his mum actually heard him getting off with Louis Tomlinson. Harry could sink into the ground right now and be alright with it, he really could. “We don’t have to talk about it,” he says, still speaking from behind his hands. “It won’t happen again, promise.”

“Oh, shush, you. I know how teenagers work.” Anne laughs, her eyes crinkling as she shakes her head. Taking another sip of coffee, she swallows before looking back at Harry with a small frown. “I just wanted to make sure you’re being safe, is all. You know, I feel like they don’t teach you enough about this stuff in school and it’s a shame, really, because you’re my little boy and I don’t want anything happening to you—”

“Oh my god, mum—” Harry interrupts, and his face is definitely red now, hot to the touch. His words are muffled against his hands. “He didn’t even take his clothes off.”

Anne’s quiet for a moment. “Oh,” she says, and then a moment later she speaks again, almost impressed. “I see.”

Harry laughs because he can’t help it, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in his seat. “Yeah, so we can just—I mean I know how to be safe, so.”

Anne laughs, using both hands to tuck stray hairs behind her ears. She licks her lips, placing her palms down against the kitchen table before looking at Harry with a small smile. “Alright. You’re still my baby, though, and that means you’ve got to ask the next time you plan on having Louis over.” She pauses, almost thoughtful. “And I think you should leave your door open as well. It’s only fair, since Gemma has to.”

“But that’s not the same—” Harry starts, his eyes wide.

“Hey, no complaining,” Anne says, and she tries to frown but she ends up smiling instead as she stands up and brings her coffee mug over to the sink. Harry watches her, liking the way her face is lit up by the sun as she turns on the tap, the sound of running water filling up the kitchen. He likes to think he looks like his mum.

It’s quiet for a moment, and Anne’s putting the mug on the dish rack and drying her wet hands with a cloth when she says, “So, your prom is coming up.”

Harry makes a face, glancing over at the place where she stands leaning back against the counter, hair messy and falling in front of her face. He frowns. “How do you know about the prom?”

“I read it in the newsletter.” Anne says.

“We’ve got a newsletter?”

“A new one every month,” she smiles, and then she crosses her arms over her chest. “Also, baby, you are a senior, so it was just a matter of putting two and two together, really.”

“Right,” Harry nods. “Well, no. I don’t think it’s going to happen.”

“You’ve asked him to go?” Anne frowns.

“His exact response was not a chance in hell,” Harry grins. “Louis doesn’t like dances.”

Anne laughs, “Well, he sure does like you, by the sounds of it.”

“Oh my god,” Harry laughs, so loud and sudden that he has to cover his mouth. “Mum!”

Anne raises her hands up, shaking her head. “Only time I’m going to make a joke about it, promise. Next time, you’re in trouble.” Harry laughs at that, because he honestly loves his mum, he honestly does, but Anne just shoos him off with a smile. “Go on, go on. You’re going to be late.”

-

“Alright, class, it’s time to get to work. I want your papers handed in by the end of the period, so don’t waste time.” Miss Flack says, and her voice floats all the way to the back of the room to where Harry’s sitting behind his lab bench, hands cradled in his lap.

It’s hard to focus with Louis sitting beside him, it honestly is.

All he can feel is the warmth of Louis’ thigh next to his, the warmth of Louis’ body spilling out into the space between them.

And it’s strange, because at the beginning of the term, they didn’t even like each other. Louis was a prick and Harry wasn’t interested in the slightest, and that all changed with a take home assignment that ended with Louis’ leg brushing up against his and spreading warmth like that, and as the dim sunlight slants in through the windows and edges everything in gold, Harry thinks about kissing Louis.

He thinks kissing Louis until he makes himself stop.

The classroom erupts with a low murmur of voices as everyone gets ready to work, but Harry just stares at the test tubes and flasks propped up on the desk, letting them blur into nothing. He honestly can’t stop thinking about prom. Maybe it’s pathetic, but he really wants to go, and he wants to dance with Louis beneath the flashing lights and the glittering streamers, the music pulsing in their chests like heart beats.

“Stop frowning,” Louis says suddenly, nudging Harry with his knee. He leans in, breath puffing warm against the shell of Harry’s ear. “Or I’ll do something fucked up like kiss you, and that wouldn’t be good at all, would it?”

Harry grins because he honestly can’t help it, and then he’s turning to face Louis, blinking slow. “I don’t think I’d mind that, actually.”

Louis blinks, and Harry suddenly realizes how close they are like this, with the sunlight washing in through the windows and edging them in gold, in colors as warm as fire. Harry licks his lips and Louis’ eyes fall down to catch the movement.

“Harry,” he warns, voice slow.

And yeah, Harry knows that they’re in a classroom full of students, but they’re in the back and it’s not like anyone else is going to turn around just to see what they’re up to. Louis’ wearing his varsity jacket today even though his game isn’t until Friday, and the red of it stands out against the pale white of his skin.

Harry suddenly, pathetically, wants to kiss Louis’ neck.

“You want to kiss me, don’t you?” Harry asks, grinning slowly.

“No,” Louis says, but he’s watching Harry’s mouth.

“Come on,” Harry says, still smiling. “Kiss me. Lick my mouth.”

“Harry,” Louis repeats, but this time it’s like he’s trying not to laugh, shaking his head in Harry’s direction. “Shut the hell up.”

“What are you going to do, pal?” Harry laughs, and then he’s moving in towards Louis, closer and closer until they’re only inches apart, the space between them thick with static. Louis watches him, and Harry blinks, noticing that Louis’ face seems to glow beneath the afternoon sunlight that washes in through the window. “You gonna kiss me to death?”

Louis stares at him for a moment, his blue gaze flickering from Harry’s eyes to Harry’s mouth and then back to Harry’s eyes again. It’s a moment before he blinks, shrugging like he’s unaffected. “Maybe,” he says, and then he’s leaning forward and pressing a kiss to Harry’s mouth, small and chaste but bloody perfect—before he’s pulling away, shaking his head as he glances down at their Biology work, an annoyed sort of look on his face. “The things you make me do, I swear to god.”

Harry grins, his whole body buzzing, and he feels like he’s high again.

He feels like he’s sitting on a cloud.

“Come to prom with me,” he says suddenly, scooting over towards Louis on their lab bench. Louis huffs out a laugh and Harry frowns, placing a hand on Louis’ arm and tugging, “Just come with me.”

“I came with you last night, didn’t I?” Louis smirks, glancing at Harry with eyes as blue as a clear dawn.

Harry tries to frown, but he’s laughing as he shakes his head, picking up the pen on his desk. “I don’t think you like me.”

“Don’t I wish that was true,” Louis says, and then the bell is ringing for lunch, echoing through the class room and through the halls. Students start packing up, and Harry follows, shoving his papers back into his bag and slinging it over his shoulder.

“You’ve got a game Friday, don’t you?” He asks Louis when they’re moving out into the hallway, slipping into the tide of students rushing towards the cafeteria.

“Don’t even think about it, mate.” Louis says, and then he’s gone.

Harry blinks, his lips turning up into a smile.

Yeah, he’s a total mess for Louis.

-

Fifteen minutes before the game starts, the sky is pitch black.

“Tomlinson’s going to kill you, mate,” Niall says, almost singing the words as they make their way up a line of metal steps. The bleachers are filled up with students, all of them holding bright red flags and wearing white face paint, cheering even though the teams aren’t even on the field yet. Niall glances over his shoulder as he leads them towards a bench at the top. “Don’t worry, though, I’ll tell Annie that you loved her.”

“Shut up,” Harry laughs, rolling his eyes as he follows Niall into a row, edging his way past outstretched legs and sitting bodies, trying not to fall into anybody’s lap.

He settles down into a free space, wincing against the cold metal of the bench, and the knees of the person behind him nudge into his back a bit, but it’s nothing that he can’t get used to. Everybody’s packed together tight, their eyes all trained on the empty field, which is lit up by rows of lights, bright white and green against the dark black sky. Harry turns to meet Niall’s gaze in the dimness. “Besides, I don’t think he meant it. And even if he did mean it, fuck him, yeah?”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t mind you doing just that,” Niall chuckles, all crooked teeth and amusement, and Harry laughs because he can’t even help it. “Watch,” Niall says, “Louis’ gonna kick you in the face, and then I’m gonna get kicked in the face because I’m your best mate.”

Harry smiles, glancing over at him. “And how do you figure that?”

Niall rolls his eyes, seeming upset that he has to explain. “Oh, you know. It’s like if you have one bad cookie and you throw it out, you think the good cookie is bad, too, because it was beside the bad cookie in the bag, so you’ll want to throw it out.” Niall’s eyes shine bright. “You see? I’m the good cookie, mate. And I’m gonna get thrown out ‘cause of you.”

Harry shakes his head, but he’s trying not to laugh. “You know, I like you, but sometimes I don’t understand a word that comes out of your mouth. And besides, he wouldn’t kick us. He’s more of the punching type.”

Niall’s eyes narrow and Harry laughs as he pulls away, just as the students in the bleachers erupt into cheers around them—the noises so loud that they bleed together into one sound, the noises so loud that they shake through Harry’s bones. Glancing downwards, he blinks as he catches Louis’ team running out onto the field, dressed all black and white uniforms. Harry grins when he spots Louis—the seventeen on the back of his jersey shining bright beneath the spotlights—and then he’s cupping his hands over his mouth, yelling out into the ocean of noise before he can stop himself, “Yeah! Go, Louis!”

Beside him, Niall groans, sinking down into the bench. “Jesus, you actually want to kill us.”

Harry elbows Niall in the side, but his eyes are still on Louis—his eyes watching as Louis slows down to a jog, as Louis’ team members break off and pass him, sprinting towards their coach standing by the bench.

Louis looks up, almost like he heard Harry’s voice, and when Louis’ stare flickers to Harry, finding him in the crowd, he just stops for a moment. He just stares, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing.

Harry grins, blowing a kiss to Louis because no one’s looking and because it’s funny, seeing Louis grin back like he can’t even help it, shaking his head before ducking away and flipping Harry off over his shoulder, making his way towards his team.

And fuck, he looks good in that uniform. He really does.

It does something to Harry, seeing him.

“Jesus, mate,” Niall says suddenly, sounding kind of horrified and amused at the same time. Harry glances towards him, and Niall is just staring at him with wide eyes, pale light from down below playing over the edges of his face. “You’ve got it bad for him.”

Harry blinks, frowning. “You think?”

Niall scoffs, eyes wide. “You’re a lovesick pup, you are.”

Harry purses his lips, nodding before leaning closer to Niall again, just so he doesn’t have to shout over the crowd. “Do you think likes me, too, then? Like, I know we snog and that, it’s just,” He exhales, long and hard. “I wonder if he like really likes me, you know, like—that.”

Niall considers the question as he looks out over the football field, tracking the players’ movements as they warm up. Harry watches the side of Niall’s face, waiting for him to speak.

A moment later, Niall does. “Did you ask him to the prom?”

Harry shrugs, feeling gutted. “Yeah, he said no.”

“Oh,” Niall says, turning back towards Harry. He looks thoughtful. “Did he punch you?”

“No,” Harry says slowly, almost confused. “He kissed my forehead.”

Niall whistles, the sound almost lost to the noise of the crowd. “Wow, then yeah, mate. I think you might have a chance.”

Harry blinks, turning back towards the field just as the game begins.

-

Louis’ team wins by three goals.

Shit, no—the school’s team wins, it’s not just Louis’. Obviously.

The game ends with glitter confetti being thrown into the air, all white and red and black, catching beneath the spotlights and glowing like stars. It ends in cheering so loud that it sounds like ocean waves crashing over a shore, the words blurring together and rising up over everything, making Harry feel like he’s underwater, like he’s swimming through time and space.

Go, go, Timber Wolves, the mighty, mighty Timber Wolves!

Nick Grimshaw runs across the field dressed as the school mascot and he gives kisses to all of the cheerleaders and even some of the players, too. Harry tries not to be jealous when Nick tackles Louis in a bear hug, pulling him down onto the ground as the whole team watches and laughs.

Louis is swallowed up by the crowd, and Harry doesn’t mind.

He’s giddy, floating on everybody else’s’ excitement, and he’s still smiling when he ends up walking across the school parking lot with Niall by his side, hands shoved deep into his pockets.

Gravel crunches beneath his sneakers as they weave between the parked cars, heading towards the place where Niall parked his truck out by the road.

“Shit, he’s good,” Niall’s says suddenly, speaking so fast that Harry actually has to focus to hear him. “Tommo’s good, mate. You never told me he was so good.”

Harry laughs, looking sideways at Niall with a grin. “What, it’s Tommo now, is it?”

Tommo’s the nickname pretty much everyone in the school uses for Louis—the teachers, the coaches, Zayn and his whole crew. The whole lot of them, really. Apparently the nickname puts Louis higher up than most people or something, which is hilarious.

Niall skips ahead, turning to walk backwards in front of Harry. Moonlight washes him in silver. “Think he deserves a nickname after the show he just put on. Bloody guy just won the final game of the season for us. Of our senior year.”

They’ve reached the car and Niall’s sticking the keys into the driver’s side but Harry’s still thinking about Louis, always about Louis, so when Niall’s hanging out the door and saying, “Mate, you coming?” Harry shakes his head, taking a step back.

“Actually, I’ve got to do something. I’ll call you?”

“Right,” Niall smirks, blonde hair glowing beneath the light of a streetlamp. “See you around, pup.”

“Screw off,” Harry laughs, and then he’s moving off to the side as Niall turns the car on, stays there with his hands in his pockets as Niall pulls out of the parking space, becoming a speck in the distance after driving past Harry and making his way down the road. After Niall’s car disappears, Harry makes his way across the lot towards the space where Louis always parks, right in front of the gym doors.

When he gets there, he sees the car, but he doesn’t see Louis.

So he waits, leaning back against the hood of Louis’ car with his hands pressed against the cool metal. The moon is full tonight, washing silver light over the pavement, so Harry closes his eyes and tilts his face towards it, as if it could light him up.

He’s not sure how long he stands like that.

The seconds move past him like smoke, shattering like glass, and then there’s a voice breaking up the silence, warm and steady and all Louis.

“Thought I told you not to try it, mate.” Louis says.

Harry blinks his eyes open, noticing Louis standing in front of him in the space between Harry and another car. His eyes are watchful but warm, like he’s trying to figure something out, and he’s still dressed in his football jersey, duffle bag slung over his shoulder like an afterthought. His hair is tousled and his skin is shining a little with sweat beneath the streetlamp, and fuck. Fuck.

“Shit,” Harry breathes, sounding like the words have been punched out of him. “I really want to kiss you. Can you come over later so I can kiss you?”

Louis licks his lips, the corner of his mouth quirking up as he tries not to smile, and there’s laughter in his voice when he speaks, all soft and warm and hazy.

His words make Harry feel like he has a mouth full of stars.

“Yes, I will,” Louis says as he takes a step closer, not touching Harry, who’s sitting on the hood of the car with Louis standing in front of him, right between his legs. Blinking, Louis glances down at Harry with a smile. “You still going to prom, then?”

“Nah,” Harry says, trying to act like he doesn’t give a shit. The air is cold for summer, so he crosses his arms over his chest, warming himself up. There’s a honking sound in the distance as someone gets into their car and drives off. Harry shrugs. “I don’t even like dances, really. Don’t even know why I wanted to go in the first place.”

Louis watches him for a moment, and then he’s moving in closer, pressing his forehead against Harry’s. The feeling is all warmth, yellow blooming into orange, into red. “What do I have to wear?” Louis murmurs, his fingers brushing at the nape of Harry’s neck.

“What, you’ll—” Harry trails off, swallowing thickly as Louis kisses his mouth once and pulls away, and Harry’s having a hard time thinking with Louis touching him like this, all light and gentle like nobody’s watching. Harry tilts his face up like he’s asking for another kiss, but then he remembers himself and he says, “You’ll come with me?”

“Why not,” Louis laughs, running his fingers through Harry’s hair as the stars watch from above, as people pass by them without a second glance. Harry’s tongue feels like cotton, and all it took was Louis touching him like this—all it took was Louis speaking into his mouth, his taste sweet, a blur of honey and smoke. “What do I have to wear?” Louis asks again, his words muffled as he licks over Harry’s lips, moving in closer between Harry’s thighs until their chests are flush together, hearts beating as one.

Harry’s dizzy, all of his words falling out of his mouth in a rush, Louis’ breath falling onto his tongue like sugar cubes. “Um—a t-shirt, maybe? Jeans. Some shoes. Shit, Lou, just kiss me—”

“Fuck, Harry,” Louis says, the words sounding like they’ve been stuck at the back of his throat for a month. He licks his lips, tightening his hold on Harry’s hair, pulling in a way that makes Harry’s breath quicken. Louis’ mouth brushes against his forehead and he says, “What do I have to wear?”

Harry laughs, shaking his head. “Honestly, Lou, just put on a nice shirt, maybe some darker jeans—”

“Harry,” Louis laughs, his hands lowering to rub small circles over Harry’s sides.

Harry sighs finally, but he’s grinning as he looks up at Louis through his eyelashes. “Dress code says suit and tie.”

Louis winces and Harry wants to kiss him. “Jesus. A suit?”

Harry’s heart’s beating fast enough he can hear it. Beating fast at the idea of him and Louis at prom with flashing lights and music. He’s giddy just thinking about it. “Yeah,” he says quickly, and then he’s licking over Louis’ open mouth.

Louis laughs into it, muttering, “You’re such a twat.”

Someone in the distance does a wolf whistle and shouts, “Yeah! Get it, Tommo!” but Louis just flips them off, still grinning as he looks back towards Harry, his blue eyes seeming endless and silver beneath the moon, half of his face edged in pale light.

“Come here,” Louis says, smiling, and so Harry does.

Their mouths meet on an exhale, and Harry’s heart feels like it’s expanding with glitter and helium, expanding so wide that it might just burst, that it might just float up and up and away, forever.

He doesn’t mind that thought at all.

-

On the night of the prom, Harry’s mum makes them late.

She takes about thirty pictures of Louis and Harry standing on the backyard porch, the patio lights washing them in silver, and then she takes about twenty pictures of them by the fireplace and fifteen of them standing out on the driveway, arms locked around each other’s waists. It’s actually quite fun, though, the way Louis laughs when Harry ducks his face in his shoulder, the way Anne waves them off with a hug and whispers, “good one,” into Harry’s hair with a grin.

Harry laughs, his eyes crinkling. “I know,” he says.

And when him and Louis finally do arrive to the dance, the gymnasium is a blur of blue and silver light. He’s always sort of imagined that prom would be more like the films, where they rent out a venue and go crazy, but it’s not like that at all.

It’s sort of better, honestly, and Harry’s eyes widen as he walks into the dance, travelling around the room like he can’t quite take everything in. The whole room is packed with people dancing, bodies pulsing and shifting in time with the music on the dance floor—music so loud that Harry can feel it in his bones, rattling there.

Round tables draped in silver cloths surround the entire dance floor, and people sit there as well, laughing and talking as the night stretches on, the disco ball on the ceiling throwing lights over their faces, pale blue and silver, making the entire room into a dream.

Louis whistles beside him, glancing around the room with wide blue eyes. “Shit, Curly. It’s quite pretty, isn’t it?”

Harry laughs, eyes crinkling as he watches Louis. He looks so soft like this, with the underwater lights playing over his face. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you use that word before?”

“What, pretty?” Louis asks, grinning at him. Harry nods, smiling so widely that his cheeks are beginning to hurt, and Louis laughs, wolf like as they move further into the dance, people pressing in on them on either side. “Have I never told you that you’re pretty?”

Harry shakes his head, and then suddenly they’re in the middle of the dance floor, shifting and swaying along with a sea of dancing bodies, Louis’ hand resting on the dip of Harry’s lower back, beneath his tuxedo, just rubbing over the fabric of his white dress shirt.

“You are, though,” Louis says, leaning forehead so that his forehead’s pressed against Harry’s, blue eyes locked on green, green eyes looking back. “You’re very pretty and I like you a lot.”

Harry presses his mouth together, blinking. “Do you now?”

“I do,” Louis grins, and they’re spinning around and around, slowly, so slowly, and Harry feels like he’s underwater, like everything’s slowing down around them, disappearing. Louis presses a kiss to the corner of Harry’s mouth as the blue light slices over his face, sharpening the edges of it, and Harry exhales quickly, his heart flipping over in his stomach. “I do,” Louis says again, the words falling into Harry’s mouth this time, “I like you a lot.”

“It’s nice that you think that, mate.” Harry grins slowly, kissing him once, biting down on his lip. “I appreciate it.”

Louis moans, and it’s sort of a laugh, his blue eyes crinkling. “Harry,” he says, and then Harry’s kissing him again, for real this time, and they’re laughing into each other’s mouths as they whirl across the dance floor, polished shoes gleaming against the white tile.

Blue and silver lights drench them in color, and they just dance and dance and dance—

and fuck, Harry feels full of love for Louis, he really does.

He’s not ready to say it out loud yet, feels like he has to make sure, but it’s there on the tip of his tongue. It’s waiting.

Harry catches sight of Niall in the crowd, his arms tight around a pretty girl with long dark hair, and Harry gives him the thumbs up over Louis’ shoulder, the light beaming down into the dark and washing Niall in electric pinks. Niall just laughs, giving Harry one back, and then they’re both pulled away by the crowd again, their bodies drifting in two opposite directions.

Harry knows he’ll have to tell Niall all about it later.

But for now, for now, the gymnasium seems to be just him and Louis and the flashing lights—him and Louis and the lights washing them in waves, and Harry keeps his eyes trained forward.

On Louis, on the warmth of him, and he laughs as Louis picks him up and twirls him around again, around and around until his head is spinning away from him, until the world becomes a blur of bright blue, the same bright blue of Louis’ eyes.

“We should get married,” Harry jokes later, when they’re standing by the punch table and looking out onto the crowd. He’s not being serious, obviously, because he’s in high school and they’re going off to god knows where next year, but he still feels his stomach flutter when Louis leans into him, pressing him up against the brick wall of the gymnasium, their bodies pressed together, the space between them filling up with stars.

Between soft kisses and hazy blue lights, Louis whispers the words into the dip of Harry’s neck with a smile. “Not a chance in hell, Curly.”


End file.
